


When the Sun Sets on Us

by phrynewrites



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Lesbian AU, beach au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrynewrites/pseuds/phrynewrites
Summary: A summer romance featuring romantic cynic Scarlet and cynical about romance Yvie, absolutely enamored with each other upon first sight, trying to figure out where to go from there — or if there even is a worthwhile relationship behind their immediate infatuation.
Relationships: Scarlet Envy/Yvie Oddly
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the Summer Lovin challenge on @writethehousedown on tumblr.
> 
> This work will also raise to a mature (M) rating for the sixth chapter only. 
> 
> Special thanks to @rbcch for brainstorming and her endless support. I absolutely couldn't do it without her consistently in my corner, cheering me on. Go send her some love @scarletenvynyc on tumblr.

Summer opened and spun around Scarlet like a ballerina in a porcelain music box — timely, rigid, delicate, something she constantly found herself swept up in — before it closed again, only to open once more when the sands were hot, the ocean tender, the boardwalk crowded with families and tipsy college students, and she was once again zipping between packed tables.

She pulled a couple of ones out from under a sweaty Miller Lite bottle, trying not to look displeased at a two-dollar tip on a thirty-six-dollar bill. Especially considering the family she’d been serving had been less than pleasant: the spoiled child, the disinterested mother, and the father who’d been staring at her tits every time she’d visited the table. She crumpled the ones and stuffed them in her apron before gathering cups and flatware.

Across the way, a group of girls crowded around a table, stealing chairs from nearby tables to fit everyone under the sun-faded yellow umbrella. They’d caught her eye, pulling Scarlet away from brushing Coca Cola soaked french fries into a bin, mainly with all the chairs scraping against the concrete and one of them swearing as she finally situated herself at the table, only for her phone to fall through the table slats. Mainly, that noise caught her attention. That was, of course, before the woman next to her, all glistening and bright in a stark white bikini top, let out such a course, raucous laugh, holding Scarlet’s attention like she wished that woman would hold her hand. Firmly, unequivocally, like it was only hers.

And then she looked over at Scarlet, met her gaze, and Scarlet swore she smiled at her before looking back down at her hands, fiddling, fidgeting, before her blonde friend threw a menu at her from across the table.

She could have sworn it was a smile. That was, of course, unless Scarlet was deluding herself, which she apparently had a tendency to do. There was something about summer here — the whirling breeze, the ocean air thick in her lungs — that made her feel like every pretty girl was some sun-struck romance waiting to unfurl.

She also could have sworn she’d already wiped up the ketchup smiley face that little brat had left for her on the table, which his parents didn’t feel was their job to wipe up. But feeling her elbow dip into the ketchup, she realized she was wrong before and could be wrong again. She grabbed a napkin to wipe off her elbow, watching as A’keria delivered fruity mixed drinks and a round of shots to that table, losing track of how much time she’d spent cleaning herself off.

As A’keria folded her tray under her arm and walked off, the noise and shared laughter from that table swelling, Scarlet got an idea. She stole one more glance over at the woman, who threw a wicked smile toward the girl next to her before raising her glass to toast.

“To the end of the semester, not failing shit, and finally getting some damn sleep!”

“And cheers to getting that security deposit back,” the girl next to her added, raising her cocktail. “That landlord scum ain’t getting any more of our money.” 

Another girl chimed in, “I ain’t cuttin’ no checks, Mary.”

The woman, who, with every word, Scarlet felt herself becoming hopelessly enamored with, added with a laugh, “To the end of capitalism!”

“To the end of capitalism!” They all clinked glasses before throwing back the shots, eyes wide from the burning liquor.

Feeling a small smile pull across her lips, Scarlet cleared the table quickly, swiping the baskets and beer bottles into her bin haphazardly. She wiped down the table before heading to the back, where she hoped A’keria would still be.

And she was, throwing her tray down on the bar haphazardly before asking for another soda to fill her styrofoam cup. Scarlet came up behind her, gently resting her hand on her arm, trying not to startle A’keria, but her bubbly demeanor gave her away.

“Scarlet,” A’keria drew out, banging her straw against the bar top until it opened. She retrieved the straw from the paper with her teeth.

“So… whatcha drinkin’?” Scarlet began nonchalantly, reaching over to pick up A’keria’s tray and a cloth to wipe it off.

A’keria turned and observed for a moment, nodding as though she were confirming her findings.

“I smell a scheme, Scarlet.”

“What?” Scarlet pushed A’keria’s tray back toward her. “Why would I be scheming? That’s crazy. I never _scheme_.”

A’keria looked her up and down in disbelief, surely noticing the quirk of a smile spread across Scarlet’s lips, the pleading eyes. She supposed she never was too good at hiding feelings.

“I smell it.” A’keria punctuated every word, poking Scarlet’s arm.

“Oh, that’s just ketchup. It’s like, all over me.” She laughed faintly, weakly.

A’keria tilted her head.

Damnit, she was good.

“Okay, so there’s a girl I really like over at your table—”

“No,” A’keria replied flatly, stirring her soda. Scarlet felt herself fizzle.

“I just really want to talk to her,” Scarlet pleaded. “Please, please, _please_ just give me table four. I’ll make it up to you.”

A’keria paused to sip her soda, though still making time to roll her eyes at Scarlet. “So you’re telling me you want my table of nice girls, who are drunk enough to give me their full, Christian names upon meeting me, who are definitely gonna order three mixed drinks each, probably another round of shots, some food to share, and then leave me a thirty-three percent tip because that’s what nice drunk girls do?” She stared into Scarlet. “You think I’m gonna give you that table?”

Scarlet swallowed. “Did the one in the white bikini top, with the braids in a bun give you her name?”

“You’re getting off topic, Scarlet. And no. We got Silky, Nina, Brooke Lynn, and something so slurred I couldn’t make it out, but your girl wasn’t talking, she was just staring off somewhere, like a deer in the headlights or something.”

Your girl. It had a gilded ring to it.

Scarlet nodded, wondering if it was conceited to imagine she hadn’t given her name because she was still stuck on the look they exchanged. Scarlet warmed at the thought. 

“But I really like her, A’keria.”

“You always do.” A’keria sighed, placing her soda behind the bar. “Come on, we gotta get back to the floor.”

“Wait.” Scarlet grabbed her arm loosely, forcing A’keria to meet her gaze. “I’ll switch a table with you. I’ll give you my table of trust fund Chads. Please, Ki, _please_ ,” Scarlet pleaded.

A’keria softened, considering this for a moment.

“They already ordered a pitcher each and just put in food, and they’re definitely gonna drink more. And they talk like they’re rich.”

A’keria let out a chuckle. “How does someone talk like they’re rich?”

“They talk like they hate me and want to fuck me at the same time,” Scarlet deadpanned. 

A full laugh this time. “You’re too much. Also, gross.” A’keria rounded the end of the bar.

“Half the tips from those girls!” Scarlet called after her, causing A’keria to stop in her tracks. “The table of Chads and half my tips.”

A’keria quirked a brow. “Really?”

“I just want to talk to her.”

She nodded before continuing to walk out to the outdoor seating, Scarlet’s heart weighted, sinking through her stomach and legs, straight through the waxed floor. She followed A’keria out.

But A’keria turned, wordlessly heading toward Scarlet’s section, collecting an empty beer pitcher from her table, turning to bring it back to the bar. She came up to Scarlet, who stood still in disbelief.

“You’re welcome,” A’keria said with a cutting sincerity.

Scarlet pulled her into a hug, holding her close as she tried to squirm out, holding the beer pitcher out with a straight arm. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“If you don’t get her, it ain’t on me.”

Scarlet nodded, releasing A’keria and accepting her blessing. “You’re the best.”

“Correct.”

Scarlet surveyed the table, the emptied drinks and shot glasses, the menus folded neatly, the rowdy din that she could still hear feet away, though now the pounding of her heart felt far louder.

She smoothed down her apron. She wished she didn’t smell like ketchup. She steeled herself and walked toward the table.

“How are we doing everybody? I’m Scarlet and I’ll be filling in for A’keria from now on.” She glanced around the table, trying to catch the gaze of the girl without seeming too suspicious. “Y’all are on vacation? Who all do we got here?”

Not suspicious of course, Scarlet reasoned. Simply trying to reason that it was good customer service to get to know them. And also, she wanted to know that girl’s name. For good customer service and also romantic reasons.

The small Latina girl to her right answered, taking Scarlet aback with her gruff voice and hand gestures thrown about. “I’m Vanjie, and that’s Brooke Lynn,” she pointed at the blonde next to her, who had her arm lazily hanging over the back of her chair, fingers draped over Vanjie’s shoulder. “Then we got Nina, and Silk, and then Yvie.”

Yvie. Scarlet let it settle in her mind, burrow deeply, let the name root itself there. Yvie. Even in Vanjie’s rough tone it sounded gentle, the sounds spun together like lace trim. Decadent. Exquisite. _Yvie_.

She snapped herself out of her pondering, hoping she hadn’t drawn any stares while she twirled Yvie around in her mind.

“Awesome! Well I’m Scarlet—”

“Yep, we got that,” Brooke Lynn added, Yvie joining in with a twinkling little chuckle.

God she was so stupid, forgetting something she’d just said moments ago, sure she was going to analyze and reanalyze Yvie’s chuckle at her. She’d analyze for at least twenty minutes, maybe more.

“So, uh,” Scarlet stumbled, fishing around for her pen. “Are we ready to put in some food? Or maybe some more drinks?”

“Another round of Patron!”

“Silk, no,” Nina warned

Brooke nodded. “I’m not going to drink that.”

Silky folded her arms playfully. “Fine then just me, Vanj, and Yvie, since y’all clearly aren’t looking to have fun.”

“I’m personally looking to have a very un-fun time so…” Yvie smirked, her words potently sarcastic. “No, I’m not having another either.”

Scarlet nodded, deciding to play along with the group’s dynamic, trying to recover herself from forgetting she already said her own damn name. “So, what I’m hearing is two shots, two party poopers, and one… well I don’t know what to do with you,” Scarlet trailed off, tinging the end with a light laugh directed toward Yvie.

“More like two idiots and three people who care about, like, not melting our livers with that battery acid.” Nina laughed, stirring the melting ice in her drink.

“Yeah, imagine like a gross liquified organ where your liver should be like it’s just sloshing toxic soup inside you,” Yvie continued, pointing at Silky. “That’s what your tequila does to people. It gives you the soup liver.”

Scarlet tried to hold back a laugh as the rest of the girls grimaced. “Ugh, imagine it’s broccoli cheddar, but inside a bread bowl, but inside of _you_.” She lowered her voice once she saw no one else react. “But yeah no soup liver, uh, Yvie.”

She said it thoughtlessly, but tentatively, as though she didn’t have permission to say her name. But it did feel wonderful to say out loud; it felt wonderfully spoken from her mouth. And it was wonderful to feel Yvie’s eyes on her once more.

“So, any other drinks or food?”

Scarlet jotted down some mixed drinks and a couple plates of appetizers, just as A’keria predicted — though she wouldn’t tell her; A’keria already knew she was always right — and headed to the back to put the order in, hearing Vanjie begin a rant about why the fuck seaweed exists and who allowed it to touch her foot. Prickling, red warmth spread through Scarlet’s chest as she heard that same laugh from Yvie. She’d like to hear that laugh as many times as possible, for sure.

When she came back with their next round of drinks, she noticed the table quieted as she approached, and remained silent as she placed the plastic cups down silently. And Yvie, she sat with her hands folded, chewing her lip, looking up at Scarlet, then looking down again, then stealing another look, like she wasn’t supposed to be looking, like it was really something she had to steal.

She laid out four straws on the table before realizing her miscount, handing one to Yvie directly, holding her gaze for only a second too long before Vanjie cleared her throat, causing Scarlet to release the straw. The straw fell through the slats and onto the ground. She scrambled to pull another out of her apron.

“Here, here’s a new one.” She placed it firmly on the table.

“So, Miss Scarlet,” Vanjie began. “What do you do around here?”

“Well…” Scarlet pondered, crouching down to pick up the straw, using the opportunity to ponder what exactly she did around here before coming back up. “I just, you know, work here and serve you food and stuff. And I like the beach, of course, so…” She shrugged, finding herself on uneven footing trying to answer that question. Really, she didn’t know what she did around here.

“Like, when you’re not doing this,” Silky elaborated, pointing her glass at Scarlet.

She could talk about school, Scarlet reasoned, shifting her weight onto her hip. That was some way for her to approach the subject of what she does when she’s not at work, getting yelled at by frat bros or being underpaid.

“I go to school for advertising design, and I’m in my last year, so that’s really fun, and also, like, terrifying, because like, what am I gonna do next, you know? I don’t know how I’m gonna turn making flyers for Wednesday Wing Explosion Night into a career, but a girl’s gotta try.” Scarlet feigned a laugh, knowing she was doing a poor job at poking fun at the sheer horror of adult life with an adult job, or really, figuring out adult life and having an adult job.

Yvie perked up, setting her drink back on the table, a smile spreading across her lips. “That’s really awesome. What do you use to make them?”

“Oh, just like, Illustrator, Photoshop. And I have to photograph the wings with our shitty point-and-shoot camera from like, 2004.” Scarlet fiddled with her hair. “So, it’s like a whole process just to get one picture of the wings looking edible.”

“Oh, I had to use that shit for my digital class.” Yvie rolled her eyes. “Photoshop is a little bitch.”

“That’s not true!” Scarlet acted as though she were scandalized. “You just have to treat her nice and she’ll work for you, I promise.”

“Yvie’s just pressed because she almost failed that class.” Brooke pointed out.

Vanjie nodded and took a long sip of her drink. “So pressed, like a panini.”

Yvie opened her mouth to respond but ended up just shaking her head. “It’s just hard.”

“For you,” Scarlet teased back, earning some light laughter from the table.

“So, Scarlet, you got a boyfriend?” Vanjie shifted her gaze to Yvie. “Or a girlfriend?”

“Vanj,” Brooke warned.

“No, no it’s totally fine.” She stole a glance at Yvie. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Of course, Scarlet wished she did, if for nothing but a little bit of joy in her day, someone to enjoy, who enjoyed her, or even someone to indulge in the intoxicating mix of saltwater breeze, sweat-struck kisses, and being in love. She pushed it aside, as she knew she should.

“I’m going to go check on your food,” Scarlet said abruptly, walking away from the table, sure she heard her name tossed around as she left. Or maybe she only hoped she did. She couldn’t trust her senses, especially when she had the image of Yvie looking up at her with those gorgeous wide eyes and flush lips clouding her thoughts.

She delivered their food quickly, normally, trying not to seem as distracted as she knew she was. And then she picked up the empty plates and cups, carefully balancing them on her tray. And then Nina had asked for the check, so Scarlet tried to seem like she wasn’t disappointed when she brought it out and collected the check presenter.

She studied the receipt as she rang them up. There was a hefty tip, written in tight, neat numbers, which she promised she’d share with A’keria. She took her time swiping the card, drawing out the transaction as long as possible, pulling the customer copy of the receipt out slowly. She clicked her pen a few times.

Fuck it.

She scribbled her phone number and a little smiley face at the bottom, placed the receipt and the credit card in the check presenter and folded it quickly, like she couldn’t bear to look at the receipt any longer.

The regret mounted as she placed it in front of Yvie, wishing them all a wonderful time here before scurrying off to the back of house. She couldn’t bear to see them open it and read her receipt, read her number, react to her including it, react to her imposing herself. And even worse, she couldn’t bear to see it laying on the table, rejected.

Her phone vibrated in her back pocket. She pulled it out, letting it sit in her hands, face down.

It was probably nothing of course. Maybe just a Twitter notification. Maybe her roommate asking another question about where the bag of bags was kept. She let out a shaking breath and looked at her screen.

An unknown number.

A text.

_Hi Scarlet xx_

***


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Scarlet pined over one of her customers.
> 
> This chapter: Yvie’s friends meddle, Scarlet makes a bold move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is part of the Summer Lovin challenge on @writethehousedown on tumblr.
> 
> This work will also raise to a mature (M) rating for the sixth chapter only. 
> 
> Special thanks to @rbcch for brainstorming and her endless support. I absolutely couldn't do it without her consistently in my corner, cheering me on. Go send her some love @scarletenvynyc on tumblr.

“Oh my god, get over it, bitch.” 

Yvie grumbled, smoothing down her towel, needlessly brushing sand off the surface, like she wouldn’t end up coated in sand anyway. 

“I just feel like two little x’s at the end is a bit much,” Yvie said into the towel, avoiding Vanjie and Brooke’s exasperated looks. 

“So, you was gonna just put “hi scarlet” just like that?” Vanjie threw her hands up, “You know, like serial killers do? You wanna be like a serial killer?” 

“I just thought it was nice and like, professional.” Yvie kicked her flip flops off and sat down on the towel. “I can’t just lead with hi, hello, kiss kiss.”

“Professional?” Vanjie exclaimed, looking to Brooke for back up. “You want _professional_ or you want _pussy_?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Yvie rolled her eyes. “Also, your hat’s blowing away.”

“Oh shit,” Vanjie turned her head, only to find her hat stumbling through the breeze before resting against a sleeping man’s back. She bolted toward it. 

“Yvie, we’re just saying that you have shitty instincts and you need our help.” Brooke uncapped the sunscreen, squirting a liberal amount on her arm. “You’re like, hopeless trying to talk to her, even if she is kinda weird.” 

“She’s not weird,” Yvie mumbled to herself. 

Brooke paused, her arm still white and streaky with the sunblock. “What would you know about not being weird?” 

Yvie chewed her lip. Admittedly not much. 

“Okay,” Yvie drew out. “But tell me how it’s less weird to answer her question ‘so where are you from?’ with ‘Denver’ and a little mountain emoji and a little leaf emoji instead of just saying ‘Denver’?” 

“Because it’s playful and fun.” Brooke gave Yvie a stern look. “And it’s accurate. And you do smoke a lot. And because of the emojis the conversation continued into learning that she does too, which seems about right.” 

“Still…” Yvie tried to reason, coming up short. There was a part of her that understood how Brooke and Vanjie were right. They did help her have a great conversation late into last night with Scarlet, which only ended because Scarlet had to be up early for work the next day.

But sometimes it was a bit much. 

“Still what?” Brooke began on her next arm. “As the people here, who actually have a successful relationship, verses a person who only knows how to catch feelings and then wait for them to fade, I think we know more than you, _Yvangeline_.” 

“Really, my full name, Mom?” Yvie joked, kicking sand Brooke’s way. 

“You’re stupid,” Brooke said through an unwilling laugh. 

When they’d finally set up camp for the day and Vanjie returned with her hat — describing the horrors of her hat blowing once more so it was now atop a child’s sandcastle, which disintegrated the minute she pulled her hat away, and how she had to run away before anyone saw — Yvie was back to texting Scarlet, who was apparently on her _unauthorized morning break_ , which was not a real break because it only happened when her manager took his usual mid-morning twelve-minute bathroom break.

“What’s she saying?” Silky laid her open book across her bare stomach. 

“Work sucks.” Yvie sighed. It really did sound like it sucked. Scarlet had already plunged sand out of a toilet, trying to figure out why sand wouldn’t just flush. “Ooh I should tell her about McGregor.”

“No, nuh uh.” Silky reached over and grabbed her phone, tossing it to Nina, who tossed it to Brooke, who handed it to Vanjie, who sat on it. 

“You all really think I need four degrees of separation from my phone just to tell a story about my boss?” Yvie huffed and threw herself over Silky, fruitlessly reaching for her phone. 

“You think you’re gonna get a girlfriend in this century by responding to her shitty boss with your criminal boss, who got arrested for running an illegal cat trading business?” Vanjie called back. “What does any normal person say to that?” 

McGreggor was not a cat trader by trade, but rather an old man with a long, white ponytail, laced with plastic craft beads, who managed the art supply store on campus, which Yvie worked at. Occasionally, Yvie was asked to feed the store cat, Randal. Technically, Yvie had to testify that she had no part in the criminal cat trade, or no knowledge of these cats. She only had knowledge of Randal, who was keenly aware of the other cats in the back room, where McGreggor kept the large canvases and rolls of paper — which Yvie was, under no circumstances allowed to stock — as well as forty-four cats, seven of which had been imported from Canada. 

“I don’t know, maybe that she really likes cats?” Yvie offered, sitting back on her towel. “Besides I don’t want a girlfriend.” 

“What?” Silky pulled her head back, her face pinched. 

“You go on and on all the fucking time about wanting a girlfriend,” Vanjie added, leaning across Brooke, pointing at Yvie. “Don’t fuck with us.” 

Yvie let out a sign. “Okay, yeah, but not like this. I mean we’re here for a few days and then what? We go home and I’m miserable because I caught feelings and I can’t do anything about them.” She shrugged. “I just don’t want to deal with it.” 

“Well you clearly already got feelings because I see her text ‘Ok break over’ with a sad face and her name’s got that sparkly heart next to it.” Vanjie held up the phone, as though Yvie needed it as proof, as though she could see if from this far away. 

“You put that there last night,” Yvie mumbled, fingering the edge of her towel. 

“Upon _your_ request,” Brooke clarified, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. 

“Whatever I just don’t want something serious with someone I’m never gonna see again anyway.” 

“Okay, yeah.” Brooke conceded. “Fair point. This isn’t like Grease.” 

“Nope, Brooke’s a moron,” Vanjie said, resting her hand on Brooke’s thigh. “You never know until you know, Yvie.”

Yvie groaned. She never wanted to know.

***

Scarlet leaned over the front counter, peering off at the beach, her palms growing sticky despite all the times she’d wiped the counter down. It was like the chipping paint was sweating just as much as she was.

“The ocean isn’t going nowhere, Scarlet.” 

Scarlet ignored A’keria’s remark, instead focusing her attention on that same group of girls from last night, all settled down on the beach. She squinted, making out Yvie, who was little more than a speck from this far away. She could nearly see her pass something to Silky. 

“Who’s doing beach runs today?” Scarlet asked herself, pondering the schedule, pondering the thought of handing Yvie a long island iced tea, like she had last night, pondering the exquisite and less probable thought of the two of them enjoying a cocktail together on the beach. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” A’keria narrowed her eyes. “It’s too hot for this shit.” 

A’keria. 

A’keria was the one scheduled for beach runs. 

“Lemme switch with you, please, Ki, I really—” 

“Be my fucking guest.” A’keria shot back, unsheathing a stack of plastic cups and loading them into the dispenser. 

Scarlet turned around, resting her back against the counter. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, fuck this heat. If you want to be out in the sun and sand and shit and give me all this AC, then go for it.” 

Scarlet ran an order to and from the beach. And then another. All while A’keria enjoyed what was supposed to be Scarlet’s cushy, air-conditioned job of cleaning and sanitizing the laminated menus for the sit-down lunch and dinner service. It was a mindless task, typically performed sitting at the bar, chatting with Kyle the bartender about his wife and whatever was on the boxy old TV precariously hung over the mirrored back bar. Usually they watched _Dr. Oz_ followed by _The View._

By the time Kyle finished making the third order, Scarlet was already feeling the heat, pressing a wet paper towel to the back of her neck, head thrown back, as though orienting her face toward the AC across the room would help her feel it more. 

And for what? To talk to a beautiful girl who replied sporadically to her? Maybe. If she was lucky. But Scarlet could have nothing more than another wholehearted, half thought through fantasy on her hands, wrapping itself around her brain and squeezing. Hard. 

Scarlet grabbed the basket of nachos that just came out of the pass-through window. At least now she’d have someone to serve and some scorching, air wavering heat to distract her from thinking about Yvie, the image of a bead of sweat traveling down Yvie’s arched brow now in the forefront of her mind. 

No.

Scarlet wasn’t going to indulge.

Scarlet had work to do. 

She placed the nachos in the center of her tray with the two daiquiris Kyle just finished pouring on either side of it. She looked up, taking the Mai Tai as well. “Where does this go to?”

It’s someone named Nina and her description is ‘directly in front of the restaurant, between the boardwalk and the ocean.” 

A’keria snorted. “That’s where the beach tends to be.”

Scarlet ignored A’keria’s offhand comment. Nina sounded familiar. She searched her head for why that name was ringing bells, though she couldn’t picture what this Nina looked like or anything she could have said. 

“Scarlet?” 

“Hmm?” She looked up from her tray, now mindlessly filled. “Oh sorry.”

Kyle looked between Scarlet and the tray, then back at Scarlet. He rested his elbows on the bar top. “You maybe wanna take two trips?” 

Scarlet waived him off. “Uh, thanks. But I’m a strong, capable woman,” she teased. “I can handle five drinks.” 

A’keria let out a snort and shook her head as Kyle held his hands up in surrender. “Sure thing, kid.” 

With that, Scarlet hoisted up the tray, balancing one edge on her shoulder, her palm flat in the center. She walked out onto the boards, looking both ways before crossing, hearing Kyle ask A’keria if she was supposed to do beach runs today, and A’keria explaining that “Scarlet has a crush on someone,” as though that clarified everything. 

Once she hit the sand, it all came into focus. Partway down the beach sat Yvie and her friends, one of whom was Nina, who if Scarlet remembered correctly, was the one who paid last night too. She had to catch herself, readjusting her hand on the tray as she stood in the sand, her left foot sinking in only slightly as she connected all the dots, the reddening, maddening warmth spreading across her chest and up to her ears once more. Nina ordered drinks. Everyone was getting drinks. Everyone included Yvie. She was going to see Yvie again. 

Like the night before, the conversation was loud — about some man who traded cats, which _deeply_ intrigued her — but quieted into a handful of low giggles when she came into sight. And Yvie, the way her heart jumped when she saw Yvie sitting cross-legged on her sand covered towel, a novel precariously open in her lap. She blinked a few times, peering up at Scarlet, her face growing a touch red. 

“Shit,” Vanjie muttered, before throwing her phone back across the way, toward Yvie. 

Scarlet swallowed to refocus before pulling the tray off her shoulder, resting it against the flat of her forearm instead. “Uh, hi again guys!” She surveyed the group, trying to give equal attention, or really, trying not to get caught staring at Yvie. “So, I have two frozen strawberry daiquiris…” 

“That’s mine,” Silky raised her hand. 

“Perfect.” Scarlet walked toward Silky and crouched slightly in front of her, just about to reach for the drink when her phone dinged, causing her to jump and reach for her back pocket, immediately thinking it had to be Yvie’s response finally getting through to her, maybe due to an issue in signal, maybe she typed something out and forgot to send. Scarlet’s mind spun, sweeping up any passing thought about Yvie in its wake. 

“No, shit, shit.” Scarlet hissed, the tray tipping off her arm without her other hand to hold it in place.

Tipping off her arm. 

And spilling all over Yvie. 

Five drinks and a plate of nachos in Yvie’s lap. 

Scarlet could die. She could just die and be buried under the sand where the washed-up jellyfish were. Buried with a driftwood headstone, etched with a description of her lesbian panic over a pretty girl _possibly_ texting her back, which caused her to tip a full tray of drinks and food all over said pretty girl. She shall never rest in peace. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Scarlet breathed out, tossing the tray down and falling to her knees, picking a half empty plastic cup off of Yvie’s lap. “I’m so _so_ sorry. God. Fuck.” 

Yvie shook her head, chuckling. She sat up and brushed the chips off. “It’s okay.” 

“I’ve ruined your book and your shorts and your bikini and I probably ruined your phone.” Scarlet tried to collect pooling frozen margarita off of Yvie’s towel, feeling herself sputtering out of control, completely helpless to stop herself. “And your towel’s ruined too. Everything’s going to be stained forever, trust me, that food coloring stains everything. And you’ve got food all over you. I’m sorry. I’m just so so sorry. I don’t even—” 

“Hey, hey, stop.” Yvie placed her hand over Scarlet’s halting her motions as she shifted onto her knees as well. “It’s literally all okay. Shit happens.” 

The thought of Yvie’s hand on her own barely permeated the thick layer of embarrassment Scarlet had built up and reinforced every time she looked up and saw the red food dye sinking into Yvie’s acid wash shorts. “I’m sorry I ruined all your things. Let me just clean it up and then I’ll go—” 

“Scarlet it’s fine, we’ll just clean it up.” Yvie began scooping up chips with both hands, placing them inside the empty plastic cups on Scarlet’s tray. “There’s nothing we can’t just clean up. 

Nonetheless, Scarlet left mortified. Just watching Yvie begin to wipe guacamole off of her chest with the dirty towel as she left with the ruined food and drinks made her shiver, made her bones feel like they were rattling, scraping against one another as she walked away. Then jogged away. Then ran into the restaurant. She threw the tray down on the bar top before running back to the walk-in freezer. 

“Redo all of ticket 103,” Scarlet called to the kitchen and the bar before closing the freezer door. She kicked over a crate to sit on, settling her aching body down, breathing in and out rapidly, surely working herself up more. She felt her throat tighten. Each breath pushed out more tears. She stared up at the ceiling and blinked to clear her eyes. It didn’t work. 

She’d ruined everything by being too eager, too dedicated to something that probably wasn’t real anyway. Too quick to push logic aside in favor of emotional release, in favor of the text back she so wanted. She really couldn’t wait just five minutes to hand out the drinks before looking at her phone? 

Well, she ruined this. It was done now. Over. Finished. Time to move on, Scarlet reasoned, pulling herself up off of the crate, coming out of the walk-in, only to be met by Kyle and A’keria and their pressing looks. 

“Did I not say to take two trips?” Kyle admonished playfully. It wasn’t as though they were busy or losing too much money from remaking drinks. “What happened?” 

Scarlet shrugged, not looking to describe the scene that now replayed in her head without her permission. She felt her eyes well up again, her nose burning and red. She took a deep breath. 

“Things happen,” she said, as though she were unsure. 

Kyle’s lip flattened. “What does that even mean?” 

A’keria stole a rapid glance at Scarlet. “Sometimes shit happens Kyle.” She offered Scarlet a sympathetic look before turning back to Kyle. “Sometimes things just be that way.” 

Kyle pondered the sentiment before nodding, accepting it. He pulled two more cups out of the stack and filled them with ice. “Sometimes it just be that way.”

***

“So, you threw your book down to help that girl who literally dropped all that shit on you—” 

“Dropped all that shit on you because she thought you were texting her back,” Vanjie interjected before returning the floor to Silky. 

“Thank you, Vanjie,” Silky said before her tone turned lecturing again. “Dropped all that shit on you because she thought you texted her back because she _likes you._ And then you help her clean up that shit she dropped on you. And then you hold her hand for no good reason.” Silky paused to take a deep breath. “And you’re still gonna tell us, the people of this jury and also your judges, that you don’t have feelings for her?”

“I’m on trial?” Yvie felt herself growing whinier by the minute, like she had to convince her friends — and herself — that nothing happened.

“We’re just trying to lay out the arguments for you, Yves,” Nina added.

Yvie snorted. “So, do I get a lawyer?” 

“Are you so unsure of your actions and the _obvious_ feelings behind them that you feel someone else has to defend you?” Brooke said pointedly, turning the page of her magazine. 

“Well shit.” Vanjie flashed wide eyes at Yvie. “You have actions you can’t defend, Miss. Bridges?”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not doing any deep feelings here?” Yvie took off her sunglasses and undid her ponytail. “Casual, sure. But I’m not, like, trying to be in love over here.” 

“It didn’t look that way.” Brooke flipped another page.

“Why are you two ganging up on me?” Yvie whined. 

Vanjie laid her legs over Brooke’s. “Because you and that Scarlet are both morons and you’re literally perfect for each other like you’re practically already girlfriends.” 

“Based on what?” Yvie was growing exasperated, ready to end this conversation and head to the bookstore two blocks down and buy something new to read. Or really, go anywhere to avoid this conversation. This conversation would be a lot easier with alcohol, she thought. Though their alcohol had all been dumped on her accidentally, so…

“Based on what we all saw! Happening right in front of us!” Silky folded the corner of her page and closed the book. “You don’t know shit about what’s right in front of you, but all of us know what was right in front of us.” 

***

Scarlet was back on the beach, this time, as insisted by Kyle, who expressed adamantly how much he hated making frozen drinks, with only three drinks on her tray. 

“For the last time. And this will be the last time—” 

Scarlet’s tuned into the conversation, recognizing Yvie’s voice, though raised, threaded with what seemed like anger. 

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t go right through her. 

Yvie stood up, pointing at her friends, as though she were jabbing them from a distance. 

“We are only here for three more days. So, I’m not going to start a real relationship with Scarlet, find out I have all these deep feelings for her that I can’t do shit about, and then leave broken hearted. I’m not gonna do it.” 

They were talking about her. They were talking about Yvie _liking_ her. Enough to talk about having a relationship. Scarlet’s blood fell still as she thought it through. She didn’t hate her. How did she not hate her? God, she got lucky. So entirely lucky. Maybe she could…

“No,” she muttered to herself. She shouldn’t think like that. 

Well...she already looked like an idiot in front of this girl. What’s once more.

Looking like an idiot once more meant losing whatever shred of dignity she’d rebuilt while crying in the walk in. 

Fuck it. 

“What’s one date, Yvie?” 

Scarlet saw five heads swivel around like an owl’s, felt ten eyes on her at once. The words suspended in the air, like the salt in the breeze. They hung around Scarlet, letting her breathe them in and out, before languidly floating over to Yvie, like a gas expanding until it filled the space between them. Scarlet barely registered Vanjie whispering ‘oh shit.’

Scarlet came around to face the group, trying to steady her breathing. “Oh, also I have some drinks.” 

She passed them out slowly, her movements mechanical. She tried to focus all her attention on handing out the drinks. She was sure she’d feel faint if she gave the question of a date with Yvie any more energy than it had already stolen from her. 

Scarlet straightened up, holding her tray limply. “Well, I guess I’ll go get the rest—” 

“Okay,” Yvie said. 

Scarlet pivoted to face her, forgetting the end of her sentence. She was far too occupied by the thought of Yvie saying okay. Scarlet waited for clarification. 

“Yeah, okay, just a date couldn’t hurt.” Yvie rubbed the back of her neck, studying Scarlet, probably looking for a reaction. 

Scarlet took a sharp inhale. An eye-crinkling smile pulled at her lips. She couldn’t help but laugh, just laugh at her own joy. “Wow, okay, okay,” Scarlet fumbled for the words. “That’s so great, just so...so I’ll see you after my shift?” 

Yvie nodded vigorously. “Yeah, definitely.” 

“Definitely,” Scarlet repeated. “So, um, I’ll go back to work, and I’ll see you then?” She pointed vaguely back toward the boardwalk.

“Definitely.” Yvie smiled back at her. 

Scarlet turned and ran back toward the restaurant, desperately needing to share this with someone, feeling the good news swell inside of her. She’d definitely track down A’keria and yell the whole exchange at her before pestering her about what she should wear tonight and maybe getting off a half hour early to run home and get ready. 

Shit. She forgot to tell Yvie when she was getting off. 

***

“So…” Nina cocked a brow. “When does she get off work?” 

“Uh, well,” Yvie continued to stumble, despite now sitting down on half of Nina’s towel, enjoying a long island iced tea, the alcohol only a touch calming. It was like the air of Scarlet managed to linger. “She texted she gets off at six.” 

“Huh, she’s quick,” Silky laughed. 

“You’re nasty.” Yvie stuck her tongue out at her. 

“You better save it.” 

“Anyway,” Vanjie drew out, interrupting Silky’s exchange. “Y’all are precious.” 

“She’d be a lot more precious if she remembered to deliver my nachos,” Brooke grumbled before laying back on her towel. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Scarlet dumped five drinks and a plate of nachos on Yvie, so Yvie naturally agreed to a date with her.
> 
> This chapter: A classic boardwalk date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is part of the Summer Lovin challenge on @writethehousedown on tumblr.
> 
> This work will also raise to a mature (M) rating for the sixth chapter only.
> 
> Special thanks to @rbcch for brainstorming and her endless support. I absolutely couldn't do it without her consistently in my corner, cheering me on. Go send her some love @scarletenvynyc on tumblr.

Scarlet was perched on the railing outside the restaurant, her hands gripping the bar as her feet swung, back and forth, back and forth, like a metronome. When Yvie saw her, all clad in her denim skirt and milky white crop top, staring off at the ocean in the distance as though she were transfixed, she felt her beating heart increase its tempo, as though it were intent on keeping time with Scarlet. 

“Yvie!” Scarlet called out, hopping off the railing, running toward her. It was as though she had snapped out of her spell, like she sensed Yvie’s presence a few feet away. She pulled Yvie into a hug, her hands flush against Yvie’s back, before pulling away, leaving behind some kind of sun-kissed, champagne-tinged scent wafting in the air, something Yvie couldn’t quite place but found herself intoxicated by, nonetheless. 

No, Yvie was not going to allow herself to be consumed by the all-consuming Scarlet. She had decided on this previously, more specifically, the moment Scarlet had suggested the date and Yvie agreed. She had also reinforced the notion that she was under no circumstances going to develop deep feelings for Scarlet every moment after — while walking back to the motel, while showering, while pouring over outfits to wear on the date, while begging her brain to please, for the love of god, let her think about anything besides being close enough to Scarlet to count each little sun-spot that graced her face and arms and hands and chest.

“Yvie?” Scarlet looked perplexed, dropping her arms back to her sides.

“Oh, yes, hi.” Yvie blinked, focusing her vision back on the Scarlet right in front of her, shooing away her intrusive thoughts. 

“I asked how you are, silly.” Scarlet poked Yvie’s arm, the spot feeling as though it were consistently touched, consistently warm, even when Scarlet pulled away. 

“Sorry, yeah.” Yvie shook it off. “I’m good, how are you?” 

It was simply a date. And a date did not require real, deep feelings, Yvie reminded herself. She could simply have fun with Scarlet, enjoy their time together, and then part ways afterward. She didn’t have to get too deep, become lost in her silken little drawl as she described sneaking out of work early to take a shower because she smelled like french fries, how she saw a stray cat wandering out from under her porch when she came home. She didn’t have to indulge her impulse to tell Scarlet about the alley cats behind her apartment, paint her a verbal picture of her home, each brush stroke within it. Hell, they didn’t even have to hold hands. In fact, Yvie decided that they would not do romantic, deep-feelings-date things, like hold hands, for example. 

Scarlet took Yvie’s hand, their palms clasped and their thumbs crossed. 

Shit. 

“Okay, so I’m gonna give you, like, the classic boardwalk experience,” Scarlet said, tugging Yvie to start walking with her. “Come on.” 

Scarlet led Yvie away, the two walking steadily, leisurely, as Scarlet unclasped their hands, only to weave their fingers back together, the two interlocked, fingers laced tight. She looked up at Yvie. 

Oh god. Not a minute into the date and they’re already walking hand in hand. She’s already fixated on the gentle swing of their connected arms between them. Her skin already prickles as Scarlet’s shoulder brushes against her arm, and she’s so keenly aware of the shorter woman next to her, connected to her, the physicality of moving and walking together, that she barely knows how her legs are still moving while her brain is this overwhelmed. 

The Scarlet pulled away. “Oh, I’m sorry.” 

It felt like a cold burn, though Yvie had to be sure she brought it on herself, knowing the panic that must have covered her face, knowing just how visible she was with her feelings no matter how hard she tried to mask them. 

Yvie gulped, struck with the inexplicable feeling that she was in trouble with herself. “No, it’s okay.” Yvie let out a long-held breath before taking Scarlet’s hand, their fingers interwoven again, Yvie feeling herself return to what now felt less like panic and more like a natural, sustainable state.

It wouldn’t be too bad to hold hands, Yvie supposed, her thumb wiggling out to rest on top of Scarlet’s. It was nothing more than holding hands.

The sun was dimming, dusting the sky and the sea in a battered grey, the neon lights for psychics, name on rice, and hermit crabs intermittently flicking on for the night. 

“So,” Yvie began, feeling Scarlet look up to watch her speak, a thrilling intimacy. “What’s it like to live here? You know, like you live where people vacation. That’s wild.” 

“I guess,” Scarlet said with a shrug. “I’m just from here, so I barely even notice it.” 

Yvie’s fingers gripped Scarlet’s knuckles. They passed a stand selling fried desserts, just turning on their lights. “It’s just like whenever I visit somewhere, I always wonder about the people who live there for real, you know? It’s like I’m just passing by and you’re here all the time.” Yvie flattened her lip. “I guess it would be fun? I don’t know it’s like I’m just passing in a place you’ve had your whole life.” 

Scarlet turned away, the tension between their arms growing as Yvie felt further apart. Then Scarlet laughed. 

“Wow, heavy first date topics.” She continued staring off, right over the edge of the pier. “Like thoughts about living in a temporary place for most people you meet, bonus points for discussing the idea of emotional permanency. Go,” Scarlet imitated, looking back up at Yvie and cracking a smile. 

“Oh my god,” Yvie groaned. “Do I really sound that pretentious?” 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s cute,” Scarlet reassured. 

“So, you’re saying I do.” Yvie looked back down at her, only finding herself struck by the teasing smile of the girl who just called her cute. She held the word in her lungs like air.

Yvie tugged at her hand, needlessly pulling Scarlet closer, their elbows knocking together. They walked in silence for a moment. 

“Yeah, it’s only a little fun to live here,” Scarlet started, staring down at the boards. “Like everything’s only open for a few months a year. And then it’s dead. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve been, like, on the boardwalk outside of work in at least two summers.” Scarlet stole a glance up at Yvie, the corner of her lip curling, letting Yvie know she caught her staring. “I almost forgot it was fun.” 

Scarlet let out a slow, deflating laugh, her face falling on the exhale. “But yeah, it’s weird to live here. It’s like everyone else is coming and going as they please and you can’t, like you’re stuck here. It’s not a bad place to be stuck in, don’t get me wrong.” A sigh. “It’s just I think I’d rather be stuck somewhere else, somewhere bigger and brighter. I’d love to be in a city, under a billion lights, you know?” Scarlet looked up again. 

Yvie nodded. “That makes sense. Just being permanent in a way you don’t want to be.” 

That was, of course, the shorthand understanding of the deepest, most desperate desire to get away and find yourself in a place you’d never like to leave, which Yvie felt creeping up on her with every step they took together. It was a feeling, much like the feeling of Scarlet’s touch, or the smell of Scarlet’s perfume, that had wrapped itself around Yvie. The feeling of being with someone who’s whole life was here, folded in these sands, fitted between the splintering boards. The feeling that Scarlet everywhere around her. It struck like a dizzying, brilliant light, and it remained. 

***

“Oh my god, I didn’t know they still had that,” Scarlet called out, pulling Yvie toward a midway game with a childlike sense of wonder. It was the one where you had to throw ping pong balls into goldfish bowls filled with colored water. 

“I used to be so, so good at this as a kid,” Scarlet elaborated. “I can’t believe they still have it. I was, like, too good at this game. I had them all lined up in their bowls on the kitchen counter.”

“Do you still have them?” Yvie had finally caught up with her, now standing next to Scarlet at the game. “Or are they all dead?” Yvie immediately kicked herself for mentioning a slew of dead fish. 

She didn’t want a relationship, no. But she also didn’t want to become some brunch story Scarlet would later tell about the girl she went on a date with who didn’t want to hold her hand and also talked about her dead fish. 

Scarlet laughed, digging in her purse, producing three folded ones. “Super dead. We made them, like a mass fish grave. My moms said they’d fertilize the geraniums.” She handed the money to the Carny before turning back to Yvie. “I think the little headstone I made is still in our garden. Also, I think the fish haunt me.”

Yvie felt her smile crinkling her eyes. She shook her head. “No way. You couldn’t have been good enough for a mass grave.” 

“Uh huh,” Scarlet whined, releasing Yvie’s hand to take the ping pong balls. “I’ll prove it.” 

“Sure, babe.” Yvie snaked her hand around Scarlet, resting it on her bare waist, needing to feel the warmth of her skin once more. 

Yvie let her eyes wander all around the tent, up at the strands of prizes hanging down from the ceiling, which under no circumstances she was going to accept, should Scarlet actually be exceptional at this game. Leaving with one of those big ass panda bears, a stuffed banana with a gorilla wrapped around it, or that blow up alien thing, would be far too much. Far too close to real date, real relationship territory. And frankly, she didn’t want a physical reminder of how she felt looking at the paling sky, the feathering neon light from the rides in the distance. A reminder of how she let herself indulge in the unequivocal closeness of touch, the way her left hand fingered with the sliver of exposed skin above the waistband of her denim skirt, how it felt soothing to simply touch. 

“I won!” Scarlet tore her from her thoughts. “I told you. I absolutely  _ told _ you!”

Scarlet did in fact have three ping pong balls in a row, floating in blue, purple, and another color she didn’t quite catch before Scarlet pulled Yvie in for a hug, her arms wrapped around Yvie’s neck, rising up on her tip-toes to whisper that spine chilling whisper, “ _ I told you so, _ ” right in Yvie’s ear. 

Yvie held Scarlet out in front of her, her hands tighter than before on her waist as Scarlet came back down, feet flat on the ground, and Yvie desperately tried to come back down from Scarlet’s whiny, breathy lilt in her ear, desperately tried not to fixate on the warmth spreading through her core. She wouldn’t dare think about that happening again. 

“C’mon, we gotta go get your fish,” Scarlet said, pulling Yvie’s hand off her waist and leading her over to the prizes. 

“ _ My  _ fish?” 

Yvie, who now held a fish in her right hand, whom Scarlet named F. Scott Fishgerald, reasoned that the fish was not a stuffed animal, so she was not in real date territory. The fish was, however, a living, breathing little bastard that she now had to take care of, because Scarlet named it and gave it to her, bonding Yvie to the fish. 

Yvie looked down at the fish, who was bubbling and taunting her, reminding her that she now had a gift from Scarlet, a thing to take home and look at and remember the now inky night and its fluorescent glow. 

***

Yvie shook herself out of it, spotting a cluttered storefront, canvasses spilling out of the entrance and into the concrete. 

“I wanna go check that out,” Yvie glanced over at Scarlet, pointing toward the storefront. 

“Ooh yes yes,” Scarlet said, so easily excitable. “You’re in for such a treat, it’s all, like, garbage.” 

“Garbage, babe?” Yvie asked.

A flush spread across Scarlet’s cheeks. Yvie ignored her impulse to brush her knuckle across Scarlet’s cheek, feel the heat rising off of her skin, warming Yvie from the outside in. 

Yvie really had to stop accidentally calling Scarlet  _ babe _ if she wanted to keep her feelings casual and her mind off of how cute Scarlet looked when she blushed. 

Scarlet turned to the side to make it through the cluttered door, leading Yvie through the narrow walkways of the store, all lined with cheap beach: shorelines of only one shade of beige, white cresting waves from the shoreline all the way back; neon flip-flops that said  _ live, laugh, love;  _ imitation vintage Coca Cola advertisements printed on thin metal sheets; a display of pet rocks; a painting of a lonely red tulip in a sea of black and white tulips. 

Scarlet let go of Yvie’s hand and spread her arms out wide, touching claustrophobic stacks of canvases on either side of her.

“Garbage!” She announced. 

Yvie swallowed, immediately regretting this stop, feeling the paintings closing in on her, her mind wandering off to her art lessons, her professors, her paintings back home. It all made the air feel thick, viscous, something she couldn’t breathe. 

“What’s going on?” Scarlet lowered her arms, looking Yvie dead in the eye, as though she already knew what the problem was but needed Yvie to confirm it. “Aren’t you enjoying the garbage?” 

If she could help it, she wouldn’t laugh. But Yvie, of course, couldn’t help it. 

“This is my future,” Yvie looked around the store once more, now noticing the paint splattered Pollock imitations; the singular umbrella and beach ball canvases; a stack of magnets that doubled as bottle openers. She gripped the fish tighter. “This is it. I’m gonna finish school and have nothing to do with my life after that. And if I want to do something with my art degree, I’m gonna end up making this knock off bullshit. And if I don’t, I wasted all my time and money.” 

“Well that’s not true,” Scarlet replied, her voice soft, her tone firm. “I’m sure the people who make and buy this done even know it’s garbage. Like they’re people who are really excited to buy a picture of Marilyn Monroe with her skirt blown up, a puka shell necklace, and a pet rock, all in the same place.” Scarlet lent her a sincere smile, leaning against a table full of striped canvases. “You know it’s garbage because you do real art.” 

“How do you know I do real art?” 

“Because you’re always observing shit and you hate Photoshop.” Scarlet laughed, giving Yvie a nudge. 

Yvie settled against the table as well. “Wanting to do real art doesn’t mean I’m going to do it.” 

Scarlet tilted her head toward Yvie, looking perplexed. “It absolutely does mean you’ll do it.” She placed her hand on Yvie’s thigh, scooching closer so their arms were pressed together. 

“You’re the only one who decides what you’re going to do. If you don’t want to do some capitalist garbage art, then don’t do some capitalist garbage art. You’re the only one who has control over you.”

Yvie laid her head on Scarlet’s shoulder, finding her voice mild and even, steadying, affirming. 

Scarlet continued. “So, if you’re going to do it, you know, be a real artist, be happy, the only person who’s going to stop you is yourself.”

Yvie inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled out her mouth, tilting her head up to steal a look at Scarlet, whose eyes were closed, her lips gently parted. 

Scarlet was a warm soul, Yvie decided. 

She laid her hand on top of where Scarlet’s lay. 

She could have feelings for her, if only she were prepared for her heart to break so dearly. 

***

Upon leaving the store, Scarlet announced that ice cream had to be eaten after a depressing conversation, on the basis of the full moon tomorrow and also her soul. Yvie could not, and did not want to argue with that reasoning, mostly because she found that reasoning exceptionally cute, especially as Scarlet blabbered on about the time she tried to make ice cream at home with her roommate. The two of them tossed the bag of cream, vanilla, ice, and rock salt back and forth until Scarlet threw the bag far too hard against the decorative swordfish — the one that came with the house and was apparently not budging from the wall — which caused the bag to explode. 

Yvie nodded along, entering the store as Scarlet opened the door for her. It was endearing, how Scarlet went into a silly story that made her look foolish in the end, probably knowing how it would pull Yvie’s mood a few shades lighter than it was before. 

“What do you think you’re getting?” Scarlet came up behind Yvie, peering over her shoulder to see which flavor she was looking at. 

“Orange pineapple,” Yvie muttered, still staring at the ice cream in front of her, as though she were trying to figure it out. “Such a weird flavor.”

Scarlet hummed in agreement, “I think I’m gonna get it. Wanna split it?” 

Yvie turned back to look at Scarlet, her face only inches away from hers, her heartbeat growing livelier and livelier at the proximity. Close enough that she could see the slight curl of Scarlet’s eyelashes. Close enough to know they shared the same air, same breath. Close enough to notice Scarlet’s lip gloss fading away, leaving behind only a few bits of glitter, sparkling under the fluorescents. In less than a few careless inches, she could—

“Yeah, uh, definitely.” Yvie’s words stumbled. “Let’s split it.” 

She shifted the goldfish to her other hand. She was not going to kiss Scarlet. That, she decided, was a point from which she’d never return. She’d indulged her feelings against her logic, but that, that she would not do. 

They sat together on a bench outside the shop, Scarlet curling her legs underneath herself, leaning in closer to Yvie, taking up her spoon. 

“How is it?” Scarlet asked, holding the cup steady with one hand, scooping a bit of ice cream out with the other.

“It doesn’t really taste like orange or pineapple, it just tastes like orange,” Yvie replied, dipping in again, finding it hard to ignore the way Scarlet was practically sat in her lap, the innocent intimacy of sharing. 

Scarlet went in for another spoonful. “I thought you said it doesn’t taste like orange thought.”

Yvie laughed at herself, lightly shoving Scarlet’s shoulder with her own. “I meant orange, like the color.”

“Honestly, I feel like orange should have different names,” Scarlet pondered. She licked off her spoon, pulling it out of her mouth with a pop. “Like, orange the color and orange the fruit should fight to see what’s going to be the alpha orange. Because right now I’m looking like an idiot in front of a pretty girl, just because orange and orange are the same word.”

Yvie held her spoon in place, trying to interpret what Scarlet just said, but falling short. All she could offer was a smile and a promise to herself that she’d spend all her time before bed turning those words over in her head: being addressed as  _ pretty girl _ and the beautiful girl who’d spoken it. 

***

Yvie handed F. Scott Fishgerald to a child, who was upset over losing the water gun race, who was worked up over not receiving a prize. 

“We really are a couple of nice lesbians, huh?” Yvie chuckled, “You win a fish, we show the fish a good time, then the fish goes to bring joy to a child.” 

Scarlet snorted, taking Yvie’s hand and leading her toward the Ferris wheel, which she insisted was absolutely necessary for a perfect summer date, a phrase that made Yvie bubble up inside the more she heard it and the longer she internalized it. 

“Please, you were probably gonna kill that thing anyway.” 

Yvie held her hand to her chest, scandalized. “Excuse you, Scarlet? My most prized possession? F. Scott Fishgerald was going to die of natural causes in his sleep, surrounded by those he loved.” 

Scarlet was overcome with laughter, bumping into a couple of signs as they entered the line for the Ferris wheel, Yvie steering her through the line. 

“Like you were going to surround that fish on his deathbed.” Scarlet quirked a brow. 

Yvie snorted. “Like that fish loved me.” 

The line moved quickly, much quicker than expected. Within minutes, Yvie found herself sitting next to Scarlet in the cart. Scarlet gripped the lap bar eagerly as they ascended, inching ever upward and ever closer to Yvie, until they were suspended above the blackened ocean and Scarlet’s head lay on Yvie’s shoulder. 

“I feel very small,” Scarlet spoke against Yvie’s shoulder, nuzzling herself into Yvie’s faded t-shirt. 

“I think it’s hard not to, Scar.” Yvie inhaled deeply, letting the air fill her lungs fully, clearly, before exhaling, if for nothing but to feel the fullness, the reminder that she was very little more than air. 

She peered down at Scarlet, wrapping her arm around her shoulders. She brushed Scarlet’s hair out of her face, her fingers slowly brushing over Scarlet’s cheek. She took her time, as though it were a new land to explore, to cherish. 

Soft skin. Sparkling perfume. Pouting lips. Open heart. Eager eyes. Silken voice. Warm soul. 

And the curve of her cheek. 

Yvie found herself disinterested in the ocean below them. The slightness of the waves could not hold her gaze like the slightness with which Scarlet looked up at Yvie and said, “the stars are out. You look to your right and you’ll see them.” 

But Yvie did not turn her head to see the stars. She wouldn’t release herself from the vision of Scarlet lit by the bulbs that dotted the outside of the Ferris wheel. The light caught on her cheek. The tip of her nose. Her collarbone. Her jaw. 

Above the world, all that is worldly, her worldly self, there was only Scarlet caught in the afterglow of neon. 

Yvie brushed her thumb across Scarlet’s jaw before tilting Scarlet up to meet her gaze. 

Scarlet’s mouth opens, her eyes blown out. 

“Scarlet, I…” Yvie trails off, as though she had something to say. She had nothing to say. She had run out of words. She found herself without excuses, stipulations, or reason. She found herself leaning in closer. Their foreheads met. “Scarlet—” 

“Please,” Scarlet exhaled, her hot breath against Yvie’s lips. 

_ Christ.  _

Yvie inched forward, capturing Scarlet’s still open lips in her own, resigning that she will never find a word to counter a  _ please  _ spoken like a revelation


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Yvie fought her feelings throughout the date, but kissed Scarlet in the end.  
> This chapter: Yvie’s back on her bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is part of the Summer Lovin challenge on @writethehousedown on tumblr.
> 
> This work will also raise to a mature (M) rating for the sixth chapter only.
> 
> Special thanks to @rbcch for brainstorming and her endless support. I absolutely couldn't do it without her consistently in my corner, cheering me on. Go send her some love @scarletenvynyc on tumblr.

“You’re full of shit, Yvangeline.” 

This was at least the twentieth time Vanjie had said that to her. Sometimes she yelled it at her. Sometimes she whispered it in her ear as Yvie was waking up, first adjusting to the sunlight streaming through open curtains, then adjusting to Vanjie crouched down, inches from her face. Sometimes it was passive aggressive, yet implied, as it was when Yvie reached for her toothbrush and Vanjie smacked it off the counter like a disgruntled cat.

It would hurt less to hear if Vanjie were entirely wrong. 

Yvie was in fact, full of shit when she walked back into the motel last night — finding all her friends still awake, snapping up to face her like a hoard of hungry lizards, all laid out over the beds, waiting for Yvie to shake some crickets into their tank — and told them she kissed Scarlet, but that it wasn’t a big deal and she probably wouldn’t see her again, so don’t ask.

They asked many questions, none of which Yvie answered. Instead, she went out to the motel balcony, locked the door behind her, leaned over the railing, and smoked a cigarette. 

And Yvie knew she was full of shit too. She knew from the smile she held as she told them, the way her heart felt unbearably full when she said they kissed, the way she immediately thought of Scarlet dripping with pearly light when they parted, how Scarlet then pressed a chaste kiss to Yvie’s cheek and played with the hem of her shirt. 

But Yvie simply chalked it up to the heat of the moment still spreading like a wildfire she hadn’t had the time to extinguish yet. Oh, how she tried. 

And really, liking someone doesn’t mean anything more than liking them. She did like her, of course. Yvie couldn’t figure out a way to deny that, though she did try. But it was better to ignore her feelings. Nothing would ever come of them anyway, and she was sure Scarlet knew that as well. Yvie was nothing more than someone passing through Scarlet’s life, a person resigned to memory while still here, in the present. 

“Yvie!” Vanjie yelled once more, standing in the doorway. “Earth to Yvie!” 

Brooke poked her head through the doorway. “What the hell is she doing?”

“Probably thinking about Scarlet,” Vanjie replied, exasperated. “Like she been doing every fucking waking minute.” 

“Is she coming to the beach?” Yvie heard Silky yell from down the hall, followed by Nina loudly shushing her. 

Vanjie tilted her head. She jutted out her chin, waiting. 

“What?” Yvie acted as though she hadn’t heard Silky. Really, she didn’t want to answer, because she didn’t want the chance of running into Scarlet and having to explain why she hadn’t texted her back this morning, or worse, see her and feel those same feelings from last night surging through her, sparking like a live wire, causing her to revisit the kiss: Scarlet’s head on her shoulder, Yvie’s arm around her shoulder, Scarlet nuzzling closer, Yvie’s thumb grazing Scarlet’s cheek, Scarlet’s plush lips moving so gracefully hers. All this, cloaked in the inky night spread around them. 

“Come on,” Brooke took Vanjie’s hand, pulling her away from the door. “She’s not coming right now.” 

“Bitch, you need to stop running away from love,” Vanjie called out before Brooke stepped in front of her. 

Yvie sighed, her nostrils flaring. She needed Vanjie to stop insisting it was love so she wouldn’t have a good reason to think it was love herself. 

Brooke cast her a sympathetic glance before closing the door. Yvie could still hear Vanjie yell that she was being stupid, and Brooke tell her she just needed time to figure it all out. 

Yvie threw herself back onto the haphazardly made bed, covering her eyes with her forearm. She wished she didn’t have anything to figure out. Though she lost the ability to be thoughtless and carefree the moment she saw Scarlet clearing off that table, her heart lurching before a great fall. 

Yvie groaned performatively and rolled over. 

Her phone, still on the nightstand, neglected, dinged. 

It was probably Scarlet again. 

She had to figure this out. 

***

Scarlet set her phone down and rounded the bar, leaning forward on her elbows and propping her face up. She let out a great sigh. She didn’t want to be clingy, of course, but she couldn’t understand why Yvie hadn’t texted her back. It was weird — and not in a good way.

“Kiki, when someone kisses you, do they usually text you back?” Scarlet asked, watching A’keria intricately fold the napkins. 

“Always,” she replied easily. “It’s more like whether I respond or not, keep all this out of arm’s reach, you know,” A’keria ran her hands down her body. 

“What if I don’t want to be out of arm’s reach though? What if I want to be in her arms? Like really bad?” Scarlet mused. “Ki, I want that so bad.” 

A’keria gave a half-suppressed laugh. “You’re too needy.” She placed her freshly rolled napkin to the side, looking up at Scarlet. “And you need to start skewering that pineapple.” 

“Oh right.” She picked up the skewer and sighed. 

She unlocked her phone. No responses. 

“Why won’t she text me back,” Scarlet whined, taking a pineapple chunk and skewering it. 

“Maybe she knows how needy you are,” A’keria muttered, looking past Scarlet, probably watching the news on the tv behind her. “She can smell it on you.”

“Maybe she’s not answering because she didn’t like the date?” Another pineapple chunk. “But if she didn’t like the date then why would she kiss me? I mean, she was the one who initiated it, so she wanted to do it.” 

“Uh huh.” A’keria continued rolling the napkin. 

“Or maybe she wanted to keep the fish?” She set the pineapple skewer aside, beginning another. “We named him F Scott Fishgerald. Was that too dorky?” 

A’keria took the fan and turned it entirely toward her. Scarlet barely missed the breeze staving off the heat.

“I thought it was very nice that we gave the fish to that kid. Also, Yvie didn’t look like she wanted to take care of a fish. They’re a lot of responsibility. You have to buy a bowl and feed it. That’s a lot. And F Scott Fishgerald seemed feisty,” Scarlet pondered, setting another completed skewer aside.

“Yeah, maybe,” A’keria replied aimlessly, readjusting herself on the barstool before grabbing another knife and fork. 

“Or maybe she hates me,” Scarlet asked herself, finding her tone a shade darker. Her words were now running on uneven ground, tumbling out before she could remember to repress those thoughts. “I told her so much, Ki. I told her all about here and how being here sucked and how everyone leaves. Maybe she hates my sad sack of a life? She knows she’s going to leave too. She might just be saving me the trouble.” Scarlet sighed, feeling her vision glaze over as she stared at the pineapple chunk in her hand. 

A’keria looked up. “Scar, I don’t know.” 

Scarlet began skewering again. “I had a good time with her though. Really.” Scarlet looked up at the fluorescent panels, blinking rapidly. She didn’t want to cry. “I thought it was perfect.” 

She reached for another pineapple chunk, now peering out of the restaurant, noticing a pigeon waddling away with a popsicle stick. 

“I just felt understood. And she listened like everything I said made sense, like it had weight to her. And the kiss…” Scarlet ran through the scene in her mind, the way Yvie repeated her name like she didn’t know what to do with her besides kiss her, like Scarlet was the only word she knew, and she spoke it freely. God it made Scarlet feel wanted. 

“I know, Scar.” A’keria gave a small smile. “I know.” 

It made Scarlet feel like she was living out a fantasy, like she was the leading lady in a romance novel so well worn the spine had cracked and the cover image had started peeling. She finally felt like something beloved, cherished, precious. She thought of how Yvie held her hand, the gorgeous heat of their skin together, how their lips met gently — timidly at first, then sweet and slow as molasses — how when they parted, Scarlet’s lips had found their way to Yvie’s cheek instinctively, feeling Yvie’s dumbstruck smile in the fullness of her cheek, reciprocating with her own. 

She set the finished skewer on the tray, the pineapple messy and unaligned. 

“I just…” Scarlet sucked in her bottom lip, contemplating. “I don’t want to be saved the trouble.” 

***

Yvie now found herself roaming aimlessly around the room like a caged animal. She had a few cigarettes, hoping they’d help calm her nerves, but she found herself contemplating the way Scarlet teased, how she stood up on her tippy-toes, just to whisper in a whiny, bratty tone that made the ground beneath her sway, until the cigarette burning down to the filter without even once raising it to her lips. Then she smoked the next with such urgency that the tobacco grew stale and tasteless. 

She found distracting herself difficult. 

So now she took to anxious pacing, her body now matching her restless brain. She paced and she thought about how she could simply respond to Scarlet and this would all be over. She could respond that she had a nice time but didn’t want to start anything serious. She could simply repeat some line about avoiding feelings to avoid heartbreak. She would be telling the truth as honestly as she knew how if she did that. 

But she didn’t. Or rather, she couldn’t. 

Not when she knew she would be hurting Scarlet by pulling away. But by not pulling away, she’d still be hurting Scarlet through the same means, only a couple days later. 

Yvie eyed the floor. Then, pushing away a couple of discarded towels and throw pillows with her foot, she laid down, staring up at the ceiling fan whirling above her. It’s steadiness reassuring, affirming. 

She wouldn’t have this problem, she decided, if the date hadn’t been  _ too good _ . She’d tried to deny it ardently last night, as questions about her night were shouted at her from all directions, all while Yvie tore apart her duffle bag, searching for her oversized t-shirt, which was already on the floor. Every question about what Scarlet wore, what they did, what they talked about, how it felt to kiss her, if she was going to see Scarlet again, how such a moron could be the one to manage to find a girlfriend on their girls trip, if Scarlet was her girlfriend now. Yvie had denied it all, alternating between “it was fine” and “no” to answer their questions before turning off all the lights and stumbling to bed, passive aggressively sending the message that she would not answer any more questions. 

Instead, she would lay in bed, a stupid grin struck across her face, and hold the image of Scarlet and all that neon light in her mind’s eye, play through the date once, twice, three more times, before falling asleep.

It was so good, in fact, that Yvie had to rethink her understanding of what constituted  _ deep feelings _ , whether or not she had them, and to what extent she’d hurt when all she had was the memory of Scarlet and none of the warmth. 

And now Yvie found herself here, laying on the matted carpet, saddened by excessive, elusive joy, thinking away her day when she should be having fun with her friends. Which was why she didn’t want to have  _ deep feelings  _ in the first place. There was nothing harmful about a crush on a waitress; the harm was in learning her name and reciting it over and over like a prayer. 

***

Scarlet went to put her sloppily made pineapple skewers in the refrigerator, only to come back and find Yvie’s friends walking up to the counter. 

She craned her head out the kitchen door, trying to see if Yvie was there with them, but coming up short. 

Maybe something happened to her? It was weird that she wasn’t texting back and even weirder that she wasn’t here with her friends. Not talking to Scarlet was one thing, but the kiss wouldn’t have given Yvie any reason not to hang out with her friends. 

Scarlet found herself growing concerned, her mind littered with thoughts of accidents Yvie could have fallen into, dreaming up scenarios that scared her senseless, made her heart race. 

Maybe her friends would have an answer, Scarlet wondered, walking over to the counter. 

“Scarlet,” A’keria warned. “Don’t bother those nice people.” 

Scarlet stepped up to the counter, swiping her ID at the register, waiting for them to approach. Scarlet was prepared to bother those nice people. 

“Where’s Yvie? Is something going on with her? I really hope she’s okay,” Scarlet blurted out the moment Yvie’s friends reached the counter, ambushing them with her anxious ramblings. “Oh, also hi, hello, what would you like to order?”

Brooke looked at Scarlet perplexed, yet disinterested. 

“Uh, just two waters and two frozen margaritas, to go,” Brooke muttered, scanning the cards in her wallet before fishing one out. 

Scarlet rang her up and took the credit card. 

“So, is Yvie doing okay?” Scarlet tried again, swiping the card.

“She’s fine, she just didn’t feel like coming out today,” Nina replied, offering Scarlet a small smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

Scarlet found herself fidgeting as she tore off the receipt and dug around for a pen.  _ Nothing to worry about  _ sounded exactly like something she should worry about

Or it did to Scarlet, who already decided she was going to worry about Yvie for the following reasons: She wasn’t responding; She wasn’t with her friends; Scarlet missed her; Brooke didn’t respond to her question; Nina smiled at her like she was a child of divorce; She wanted to hold Yvie’s hand and was currently not doing so; and Silky and Vanjie, who seemed to be the loudest and most open of the bunch, were dead silent. 

Brooke signed the receipt, sliding it back across the sticky counter to Scarlet, who took her time methodically folding it before sticking it under the cash box. 

“Thanks.” Brooke threw her wallet back into her bag. 

With that they turned away, surely headed to the beach. Vanjie looked back at Scarlet, inhaling deeply, contemplatively before turning back around. 

“I’ll wait for the water bottles and bring them over,” she called back to her friends, though they were only inches away. “You guys go set up.”

Vanjie looked behind her and when satisfied, threw her bag on the counter, shoving her hand inside, searching urgently. 

“Oh, we can bring them to you guys—” 

“No, shut up,” Vanjie snapped up to look at Scarlet, who was confused by the sudden shift in tone. “Sorry, I mean be quieter.” 

“Oh,” Scarlet breathed out. “What’s going—”

Vanjie threw her head back once more. “Don’t you hos go and get sand on my towel!” Vanjie finally pulled something out of her bag, what looked like a zip top baggie filled with cards and loose dollar bills. 

Scarlet laughed to herself. “You know, it’s really telling that Brooke has a nice leather wallet and you keep your money in a bag.” 

“Observant,” Vanjie noted while shuffling through her cards. “She also organizes her money by serial number, but don’t tell her I said that.” 

“I won’t.” Scarlet giggled. 

“You gonna get the waters?” Vanjie looked up before huffing, looking through her cards again. 

“Oh right, sorry.” Scarlet pulled two waters out of the fridge, placing them next to Vanjie’s bag. 

“Gotcha.” Vanjie pulled a card out and held it out to Scarlet. 

Between the secrecy and the card, really this whole encounter, Scarlet was growing confused, which wasn’t sitting well on all the anxiety. “Brooke already paid.” 

“It’s my room key.” Vanjie took Scarlet’s hand and placed the key in her palm, wrapping her fingers around it. “If I know Yvie, she’s probably still in our room, laying on the carpet or some shit like that, thinking herself to death. But she’d want to see you and talk to you and sort out her feelings for you.”

_ Feelings for you _ ? So Yvie was okay, or at least she could assume Yvie was okay if Vanjie thought she was in their room. But what was she thinking about? And what did Vanjie mean by  _ feelings _ ? Scarlet almost hoped Yvie felt the same way about her as she did about Yvie before stopping herself, knowing that getting attached to someone else’s hypothetical feelings was a dangerous game. 

“Wait, so what do you want me to do with this?” 

Vanjie grabbed the waters and stuck them in her bag. “Go to her.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving Scarlet with the room key and a fragile sense of hope.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Yvie’s in her feelings, Vanjie sends Scarlet on a quest.
> 
> This chapter: Yvie and Scarlet talk it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is part of the Summer Lovin challenge on @writethehousedown on tumblr.
> 
> This work will also raise to a mature (M) rating for the sixth chapter only.
> 
> Special thanks to @rbcch for brainstorming and her endless support, and generally being too wonderful of a girlfriend. I absolutely couldn't do it without her consistently in my corner, cheering me on. Go send her some love @scarletenvynyc on tumblr.

Scarlet turned the key over in her hand, staring off at Vanjie as she ran across the boards, meeting back up with her friends. 

It felt weighty and red hot in her hand. She wasn’t sure if she should go see Yvie, who clearly seemed to be taking time alone, away from her, specifically. But she was sure she wanted to see Yvie again, even though the anxiety bubbled up in her stomach, willing her to change her mind, to find a way to give Vanjie back her room key and cut her losses with Yvie. 

Though it was difficult to consider the possibility of another night like the last as losses, even if it was only a possibility. 

Scarlet tucked the key away in her pocket. 

***

Yvie didn’t bother to peel herself off of the carpet when she heard the key card inserted and pulled out of the lock. It was probably Vanjie coming to pull her out of here and make her face her feelings. Or possibly Brooke, who wanted to have a heart to heart about letting herself love others, which would likely end in Yvie playfully calling Brooke an asshole and Brooke leaving Yvie to sort herself out once more.

She heard a thump against the door. Probably Vanjie checking her hip against the door, willing the heavy door open with the force of her body. Yvie sighed, training her eyes on the fan. If she didn’t see Vanjie, maybe Vanjie wouldn’t see her. 

“Ugh, fuck.” Yvie heard, followed by a stumble.

Her heart plummeted, like the cable holding it up had finally snapped. 

That wasn’t Vanjie’s voice. 

Frankly, Vanjie couldn’t curse that quietly if she tried.

“I’m not even gonna ask whose panties these are,” Scarlet laughed tightly, setting the room key down on the dresser with a pronounced flick of the card against the wood. Scarlet sighed. “What are you doing Yvie?” 

“Getting an indoor tan,” Yvie quipped, stretching her legs. She couldn’t bear to look at Scarlet, let alone address her without some sarcasm. 

“Huh, turns out you’re still funny.” She heard Scarlet pad across the room before shoving aside the discarded comforter. Yvie turned her head, warmth pooling in her chest at the sight of Scarlet’s dirty white Keds. Then Yvie swallowed. She must have come straight from work. 

Scarlet laid down next to Yvie, inching across the way before clasping Yvie’s hand, closing their distance. Scarlet ran her thumb across her hand, steadily, back and forth. Yvie felt her heart rate slow as she turned away from the fan and looked instead to their hands. Back and forth and back and forth.

“I, uh,” Yvie began, still uneasy, still finding her words were scraping their way out of her mouth at best. “I try to be funny.” 

A pause. Then a sustained silence. Yvie focused on Scarlet’s breathing next to her. She shifted an inch closer, and then another, until Scarlet’s arm was pressed against hers. 

“What’s going on Yvie?” Scarlet breathed in deeply. “I’m starting to get worried.” 

“I…” Yvie began, before she realized that she didn’t know what to say next. She didn’t know how to answer why she wasn’t responding to Scarlet, yet felt so drawn to her, so comforted by her presence. And she didn’t know how to explain how grateful she was for Scarlet bothering to go after her, to worry about her and care about her and want her, even though this was all difficult. 

She turned her head, studying Scarlet, who had her eyes closed, a lazy smile gracing her lips. 

Yvie propped herself up on her elbow, causing Scarlet to release her hand and turn to look at her quizzically. 

“I, uh...I was never looking for anything serious.” Yvie looked down, picking at the matted, sand embedded carpet. “This is all so short term, like I’m just going to have to leave soon anyway.”

Scarlet sucked at her lip and nodded, her eyes growing wide and glassy.

“But I also can’t just lie to myself and pretend I don’t feel anything for you.” Yvie walked her fingers over to Scarlet’s hair, all auburn and strewn about, looking darker in the dim room. She took a piece and began twirling it around her index finger. “I tried so hard and I can’t anymore. Every time I lie to myself it’s like I’m lying to you, and I can’t.” 

Yvie felt her heart pounding against her ribs, like it had a fierce desire to get out, to free itself. She peered up, scanning Scarlet’s face for a reaction, only finding Scarlet with her eyes closed, tears slowly leaking out. 

_ Fuck.  _

Yvie shakily brought her hand up, resting her palm against Scarlet’s cheek. Scarlet turned toward her and placed her hand over Yvie’s, like she was trying to keep Yvie close, trying to hold on to her touch as long as she could. 

Yvie felt her skin prickle at the sight of Scarlet nuzzling closer, before her blood stilled as she felt a tear against her finger. 

“I really do like you,” Yvie began, timidly. “I enjoyed our time together and I like talking with you and being with you, having fun with you and kissing you. I like it all when I’m with you.”

It hung in the air like a whole note, reverberating off of the peeling yellow paint, the tan striped curtains in front of the balcony door, and when the words returned to her, they were softer, kinder, easier on the ears. 

Scarlet cleared her throat. “We can do all of that and not make it a long-term thing, right? Like, we don’t have to hold back from liking each other, right?”

Yvie nodded, running her thumb from Scarlet’s cheek to the peak of her lips. 

“I wouldn’t even know how to hold back. The thought of you not feeling the same way about last night had me in knots all day, Yvie.” 

Yvie’s stroking halted abruptly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about that,” she apologized quickly, profusely. “I really wanted to text you back, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself do it. I just couldn’t face what would happen next—”

Scarlet clasped Yvie’s hand and brought it to her lips, giving her knuckles a tender kiss before holding their intertwined hands to her chest. The sudden closeness made Yvie stumble. 

“It’s really all fine, just listen Yvie.” A deep breath, and then an exhale. “Please.”

Yvie felt her hand bob up with Scarlet’s expanding chest, then sink back down. She relished the closeness. 

“I know you don’t want to leave anything serious behind.” Scarlet flexed her fingers once more before curling back around Yvie again. “I don’t want to get left behind.”

“I don’t want to leave you behind,” Yvie said, too quickly. 

“I know, I know,” Scarlet opened her eyes, peering over at Yvie. She gave a slight smile, nothing more than a curl of her lips. “We won’t be together for a long time, so we should try to have a good time while we can, right? Because I don’t want to regret not showing you my feelings for you, especially after I already shared so much of myself with you and you shared so much of yourself with me.” 

Yvie found her free hand resting against Scarlet’s forearm, if not for the closeness, the feeling of Scarlet’s salt and sweat stricken skin, but to anchor her, to remind Scarlet and herself that they were here together. That this was an act of being together. 

“I feel like your instinct is to try and you’re just thinking too hard and fighting it off. So why not just try?”

They were together right now. They were spending time, close to connected, pressed against one another, reveling in touch, just as they were before. So why shove this away? When confronted with the closeness they were wasting on contemplation right now, Yvie couldn’t fathom why she would prevent herself from feeling loved while she could. 

If she would be heartbroken either way, if she would leave Scarlet hurt either way, whether from standing her up or leaving in the middle of a relationship, placing an intermission of thousands of miles between them, she might as well make the hurt worthwhile. 

She might as well enjoy Scarlet’s perfect body next to hers, her kind blue eyes and the wrinkle at the bridge of her nose. She might as well kiss those chapsticked lips once more in a dingy motel room, laugh with her about the birds that fall through the umbrella holes at the restaurant, and transcribe the overbeating of her full, heavy heart, letting the music lull her when she returned to Denver. She might as well make the hurt worthwhile.

“Yvie,” Scarlet whined, wagging a finger in front of Yvie’s nose. “You’re thinking too hard again.” 

Yvie took her hand and in a swift motion, threw herself over Scarlet, pinning her hand down and hovering over her, causing Scarlet to squeal underneath her. Yvie could feel herself smirk and feel Scarlet’s breathing becoming rapid as her look became dazed. 

She released her hands as Scarlet let out a breathless little squeak, teasing the back of Yvie’s calf with her foot. 

“You’re right,” Yvie said, her voice a touch richer, a touch thicker than before. She pressed a kiss to Scarlet’s jaw, feeling enveloped in Scarlet’s perfume. “I really think we should enjoy each other while we can.” 

Scarlet’s jaw fell slack as her eyes drew closed. She pressed her lips back together, giving a content little hum before opening her eyes once more, pressing a hand against Yvie’s back, willing her closer. 

“I love it when you say I’m right.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Yvie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but laugh heartily, the joy of sarcasm and wit running rampant all through and around her, until Scarlet pulled her down, crashing their lips together, holding another hand to the back of Yvie’s neck. Yvie met her rhythm, relaxing into her touch as Scarlet slid her hand down to her back, lacing them together.

And as she pulled away, taking in Scarlet from above, all Yvie could see was that neon light again and how it struck Scarlet’s plush, pouty lips. It was like the first time and it was like now all at once. Time had folded and Yvie felt bliss.

Scarlet turned and pressed a kiss to Yvie’s forearm, muttering against her skin, muttering with those intoxicating lips, “you’re gorgeous.” 

Yvie ran her tongue across her teeth. Of course, Scarlet left behind the taste of spearmint and coffee. 

“I really am.” 

Scarlet bit back a laugh before shoving Yvie off of her. “And cocky too.” She shook her head, but her smile remained. 

“Just for you babe.” 

“Puh-lease,” Scarlet rolled her eyes, before being stopped by her stomach grumbling loudly. Yvie leaned on her elbow, quirking a brow. 

“So, my lunch break is probably beyond over,” Scarlet began, pulling in her legs before getting up. “But I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?” 

Yvie, transfixed by following Scarlet’s long legs, looking ever longer, ever more touchable from this angle, gave a weak-willed nod. 

Scarlet turned, blew Yvie a kiss, and slid out through the door, leaving only Yvie's cluttered mind, her warm core, and a cloud of perfume in her wake. 

Yvie sat up slowly, as though she’d been ravaged by Scarlet via her own thoughts. She felt giddy, like if she’d opened her mouth, all she’d be able to release would be candy sweet giggles. She didn’t know what she just did or how she did it with Scarlet, but she knew what to do next. 

***

Fifteen minutes later, Scarlet saw Yvie rounding the corner and entering the restaurant. She felt her hand slow, no longer wiping off the bar top as Yvie strode in. 

And as though in one fell swoop, Yvie placed a takeout container on the bar, knelt one leg on the ripped pleather of a barstool, leaned herself over the bar, and grabbed Scarlet by the back of the neck and pulled her in for a kiss, leaving Scarlet stunned, her mind vacant, her lips pleasantly warm. 

Right in the middle of work. Scarlet was still holding the rag. 

A’keria, across the way, whispered “ _ Miss. Scarlet _ .”

“Hey, lady,” Yvie husked, settling her hands flat against the bar. 

“Um, hi.” Scarlet couldn’t get her bearings about her, couldn’t see past how Yvie chewed at her lip, how her tie-dyed bikini top gapped just slightly as she leaned forward, just enough for Scarlet to see the gentle crest of Yvie’s cleavage before pulling her eye away. 

“I got you a BLT,” Yvie brought the takeout box back into view, thankfully not noticing, or at least indulging in how overwhelmed Scarlet felt. She opened up the box, revealing the sandwich. “I also got you the avocado, you know, because you’re worth it,” Yvie teased, pushing the box toward her. 

“Gee, thanks,” Scarlet chuckled, Yvie’s silly explanation overwhelming the pang in her stomach. 

“So, tonight…” Yvie trailed off, leaning back. She tilted her head. “Thoughts?”

“Maybe a picnic? By the beach?” Scarlet suggested, picking at a waffle fry. “You fed me, so I feed you?” 

“Love the equality, babe.” Yvie stole a fry, popped it in her mouth, and hopped off the barstool. “How about seven?” 

“That’s perfect,” Scarlet glanced up at Yvie. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Perfect.” 

And with that, Yvie left, Scarlet enjoyed her lunch, and A’keria stared at her, dumbfounded, as she ate her sandwich, pondering the thought of another date with Yvie. 


End file.
